Scattered leaves
by LostInTheMiddle
Summary: When you spend your life saving the world, there is a very good chance of meeting someone who does the same.


A/N: After I wrote this story, I decided to see if there are any other Sartha fics out there. There were. So I apologise if I have accidentally used someone's ideas. I didn't mean to, honest.

Another cellar. Another monster. They don't know what it is, what it wants or how it got here. But it's here, with them, right now. Sam blinks, trying to make something out in the murky darkness. Nothing. He can feel Dean shaking. At least he'll have something to joke about when they get out of here. If they get out. The noise seems closer. Is it Sam's imagination, or can he really hear claws, scraping along the walls? Don't be silly, he tells himself, those people weren't killed like that. But how were they killed?

A scream rings through the stale air. Has someone found them? On second thoughts, did they make such an amount of noise?

The sound of a door being flung open. Someone running towards them, someone else trying to keep up. A strange buzzing.  
— Martha, over here!  
— There's someone done there, I heard them!  
Sam hears the buzzing again. Something shatters. Something else, stinky and thick, covers his eyes, his nose, his mouth. And then the entire world goes crashing around the young Winchester 's head.

— Sam? Sammy, can you hear me? Sam, just say something!  
— If you call me Sammy again, I'm gonna take your Led Zeppelin tapes and chuck them out.  
Dean smiles.  
— Can you feel anything? A headache? Dizziness? Maybe sickness?  
Who 's that next to Dean?  
— No, it's ...uh...okay.  
Sam lifts himself up on his elbow. A beautiful dark-skinned girl is crouching next to him. A few strands of black hair have fallen loose from her ponytail and are tickling Sam's cheek. She notices and tucks them back.

— Martha, run! — A mad-looking guy in a long brown coat runs up to them — If we don't get to the reactor in three minutes, the whole fleet will be here!  
— Just wait a second, Doctor, — the girl turns back to Sam, — Are you sure it's okay?  
— Yeah, perfectly. Sam Winchester, — he blurts out, surprising even himself. It's usually Dean telling every second girl his name in that manner.  
— Martha Jones. Nice to meet you, Sam Winchester, — she smiles at him, gets up and runs off. Sam is vaguely aware of a screeching, grinding sound and of something blue, flashing in the distance. He wants to give chase, but this time the world doesn't go crashing. It goes spinning. When it stops, Sam can only see leaves, scattered about as if by a gust of wind.

—

That was one of the many images that have running through Sam's head for the last four months. Strange. Before the Toclafane came, Sam thought of life as a pretty complicated, but nonetheless interesting thing. Then it somehow turned into a pointless countdown until the moment a black sphere decides that it's had enough of you. For four months he tried to extend that countdown for himself and for Dean. Four hours ago he stopped. Four hours ago a black Chevrolet Impala, transporting food for refugees instead of the usual salt and holy water, was classified as illegal and disintegrated along with the driver. Four hours ago the fine ash that once was Dean Winchester settled on the remains of charred metal that once was his beloved Baby.

— Sam? Sam Winchester?  
Funny. The very girl he had been thinking about, trying to remember a world where Dean was and the Toclafane weren't, had just appeared before him, having fought her way past dozens of refugees.  
— Martha Jones.  
He says it as a statement, not a question . Even if it isn't her, who cares? Dean can't tease him any longer.  
— You're on your own?  
— My brother was caught transporting illegal provisions.  
— Oh...I'm ...I'm so sorry.  
— Never mind.  
Never mind? Never mind?! He was your brother, Sam, your brother!  
— Your Doctor, — Sam is surprised by how much he can remember about that encounter, — is he here?  
— No.  
She doesn't need to continue.

— Listen, Sam, — Martha has gone from sympathetic to business -like, — do you know about the launch?  
— Sure, — he winces, — in eight months the Universe is gonna get as good as we do now.  
— You know, my Doctor can stop it.  
— Oh yeah?  
— Yeah. Just hope, Sam. And he will.

It turns out Sam needn't have hoped. Seven weeks later the hiding place is discovered. No one makes it out.

—

— We really need to see that artifact, it's urgent!  
— Sorry boys, no UNIT docs — no entry.  
— But we've got... — Dean pulls out yet another very-official-looking-but-

absolutely-fake piece of paper.  
— It's okay, Reynolds, they're with me, — A beautiful dark-skinned girl walks up behind them. A few strands of black hair have fallen loose from her ponytail and are tickling her cheek. Her chocolate-brown seem slightly familiar to Sam, though he can't quite place her.

— Is it my imagination, or have I seen her before? — Sam hears Dean whisper. The girl turns around.  
— Sam Winchester, if I'm not mistaken?


End file.
